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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421145" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>All Saint's Day</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why blow'st thou not, thou wintry wind,<br> Now every leaf is brown and sere,<br> And idly droops, to thee resigned,<br> The fading chaplet of the year?<br> Yet wears the pure aerial sky<br> Her summer veil, half drawn on high,<br> Of silvery haze, and dark and still<br>The shadows sleep on every slanting hill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> How quiet shows the woodland scene!<br> Each flower and tree, its duty done,<br> Reposing in decay serene,<br> Like weary men when age is won,<br> Such calm old age as conscience pure<br> And self-commanding hearts ensure,<br> Waiting their summons to the sky,<br>Content to live, but not afraid to die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Sure if our eyes were purged to trace<br> God's unseen armies hovering round,<br> We should behold by angels' grace<br> The four strong winds of Heaven fast bound,<br> Their downward sweep a moment stayed<br> On ocean cove and forest glade,<br> Till the last flower of autumn shed<br>Her funeral odours on her dying bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> So in Thine awful armoury, Lord,<br> The lightnings of the judgment-day<br> Pause yet awhile, in mercy stored,<br> Till willing hearts wear quite away<br> Their earthly stains; and spotless shine<br> On every brow in light divine<br> The Cross by angel hands impressed,<br>The seal of glory won and pledge of promised</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Little they dream, those haughty souls<br> Whom empires own with bended knee,<br> What lowly fate their own controls,<br> Together linked by Heaven's decree; -<br> As bloodhounds hush their baying wild<br> To wanton with some fearless child,<br> So Famine waits, and War with greedy eyes,<br>Till some repenting heart be ready for the skies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Think ye the spires that glow so bright<br> In front of yonder setting sun,<br> Stand by their own unshaken might?<br> No--where th' upholding grace is won,<br> We dare not ask, nor Heaven would tell,<br> But sure from many a hidden dell,<br> From many a rural nook unthought of there,<br>Rises for that proud world the saints' prevailing prayer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> On, Champions blest, in Jesus' name,<br> Short be your strife, your triumph full,<br> Till every heart have caught your flame,<br> And, lightened of the world's misrule,<br> Ye soar those elder saints to meet<br> Gathered long since at Jesus' feet,<br> No world of passions to destroy,<br>Your prayers and struggles o'er, your task all praise and joy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Keble">John Keble</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421145" data-title="All Saint's Day de John Keble" data-description="Why blow'st thou not, thou wintry wind,
 Now every leaf is brown and sere,
 And idly droops, to thee resigned,
 The fading chaplet of the year?
 Yet wears the pure aerial sky
 Her summer veil, half drawn on high,
 Of silvery haze, and dark and sti..."></div>
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